


Blindside

by pfaerie



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Denial of Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 11:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pfaerie/pseuds/pfaerie
Summary: Alex earns a spot on Zuzu City Tunnelers when he's twenty-two. Everything changes.





	Blindside

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that's been bouncing around in my head that didn't want to come out until [@urethrapunisher](https://twitter.com/urethrapunisher) patiently sat through my rambling.
> 
> Content warning for Clara Mullner's death and Alex's dad's abuse.

The Morel House is more popular after six PM. Neon signs behind the bar advertise various cocktails for the nine-to-fivers still in their suits, ties and tongues getting looser by the sip of whatever’s on tap. Tables and booths are filled with couples on dates who take advantage of the dim lighting. Classic rock crackles out of a sound system in desperate need of an upgrade, but Alex appreciates the break from the bouncy pop station that seems to play everywhere else in the city.

Vintage posters and signs advertising the best burgers in the Ferngill Republic hang on the wood-panel wall alongside mounted fish, antique clocks, and other novelty knick-knacks. Missing chips of paint and splintered wood were clearly sanded for aesthetic, and the oil lamps have all been repurposed and wired with electric bulbs. The stone fireplace near the entrance is just cleverly painted plaster masking a faux fire that doesn’t actually get hot.

A lot of places in Zuzu City hijack the farm-town aesthetic, though Alex cannot for the life of him figure out why. There’s nothing glamorous or fun about leaky roofs and rusted pipes. If it were up to him, Alex would have picked a classier downtown restaurant for the birthday party,  one that didn’t feel like a knock-off version of the crappy saloon in Pelican Town.

A pretty hostess with dark brown hair hair directs him through the narrow walkway to the back of the restaurant. A giant sign on a latticework divider reads RESERVED. Four arcade machines are crowded against the leftmost wall with some antique soda machines that look purely decorational. In the center of the room is a pool table with red felt instead of the standard green. The right is a large booth in a nook, five chairs on the hanging side of the table.

Boxed in the center of the booth seating is a man in a gaudy foam crown that has BIRTHDAY KING bedazzled in purple gems on the front. Alex has never met him before, but he knows his name is Lyn and that he works in accounting. Directly in front of him, with her back turned to him, is Olivia. To her right is a mane of curly black hair who Alex knows is his teammate - and sole reason for even attending this party at all -  Ramirez.

Ramirez is a running back for the Zuzu City Tunnelers. She’s been on the team for four years and is fairly popular among fans, despite her abysmal score rate - it’s not a bad thing, she’s more of an assist player. The team respects her a lot as well, treats her like a captain even though she isn’t. Maybe she will be in the future. Alex would definitely vote for her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with your hair down,” he says, taking the empty corner seat. A water has already been ordered for him, and baskets of wings, sweet potato fries, pepper poppers, and fried calamari run the middle of the table. In the center is a pile of gifts where Alex quickly deposits his so he can solve the problem of his empty plate.

“I was just telling her that! Can you believe how long it is?” Olivia agrees as Ramirez tucks a curly lock behind her ear. It falls to just below her shoulder blades.

Alex shakes his head. “How do you even get it all under the helmet?”

“How do you get that gelled-up mess under yours?” Ramirez teases, reaching out to ruffle it.

Alex ducks away, blocking her hand with his arm. She tries again. “Hey, girls love my hair.”

“Oh, I bet girls are all over you, Valley Boy.” Alex doesn’t point out that, quite literally, a girl is currently all over him to touch it, just laughs when Ramirez finally gives up and turns her attention back to Olivia. “I swear he uses a whole bottle. It’s gotta be crunchy as hell.”

Olivia giggles. “I’d kill for hair like either of yours.” She pulls at her own red hair, styled in her signature braids. She’s tied white satin ribbons that match the arms of her glasses to the ends in an effort to dress it up.

The tips of Ramirez’s ears turn red at the compliment, and the tailspin begins, as it always does. It’s ridiculous. Alex has seen Ramirez put teammates twice her size in headlocks over a Joja Cola, but Olivia, who looks like a stereotypical librarian if Alex is being completely honest, completely paralyzes. Secondhand embarrassment is not an emotion Alex experienced a lot in his life, but Ramirez seems determined to make up for lost time.

There’s an awkward beat of silence, so Alex asks, “So, any cool projects at work, Olivia?”

“A few!” she says excitedly. “Morris finally gave me the reigns on a few pages for the site we’re building. Nothing on the graphic design front, but, I mean, I get to work with a coder and see my layouts come to life.” She crosses her fingers. “Hopefully something comes up soon. I hear we can start some regional branding project to really establish Joja in smaller communities”

Alex doesn’t know exactly what that entails, but he tries to mirror her enthusiasm to mask the confusion. “Here’s hoping. Hey, Ramirez? You got any ins on the roster?”

Ramirez shakes off the embarrassment and takes a deep breath, seeming to slide out of one persona and into the confident sports star Alex knows. “Typical rookie. So eager.”

“I mean. Can you blame me?”

“No, but you’re here to have fun, not think about work.”

“I’m _always_ thinking about work.”

“You can wait ‘til the roster’s posted, just like everyone else, Valley Boy. Besides, I get no say in who’s playing what.”

Another beat of silence, which ends when Lyn’s girlfriend, Aimee, announces they’ll be opening gifts. After the third one, it becomes apparent that everyone got him the same bottle of Stardrop Syrup Ramirez advised him to pick up when she invited him. Everyone laughs hysterically, Lyn the hardest of all. Clearly it’s an inside joke, one that Alex isn’t a part of, but he knows a good gag when he sees one. When he’s opened all ten gifts, Aimee piles all the bottles in Lyn’s arms and kisses his cheek for a picture.

The kitchen crew and waitstaff appear shortly after with a large chocolate cake, singing an obnoxious birthday song that the whole restaurant applauds. Lyn and Aimee cut pieces for everyone, and conversation breaks off naturally. Alex makes polite conversation with a golden-eyed blond sitting across from him. He’s nice enough, Alex thinks, but not very chatty.

He’s saved from embarrassing himself any further when someone slides into the booth to Alex’s right. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. The whole table lights up and greets him, well, except for Alex. He’s still in his work clothes: a Joja Corp blue polo that is entirely too big and tan khakis that are entirely too long. The green trucker hat clearly isn’t company policy, however. The logo looks familiar. “I take it I definitely missed the gift reveal then?” he says, producing a gift bag roughly the same size as everyone else’s.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Lyn doesn’t bother opening it and gives Nym a giant slice of cake.

Aimee taps her knife against her empty beer stein. “And now that everyone is here, I have one more gift,” she announces, pulling out one more small, black box. She doesn’t hand it over immediately. “Lyn,” she says. “We’ve been together for about three years -” and Alex doesn’t need to hear the rest to know how this speech ends, to know there’s a ring in the box. A blush dances under skin, prickling like fire ants as it marches to the tips of his ears and down his neck.Aimee is crying by the end of it, and Lyn isn’t far behind her. The whole table claps when the now engaged couple hugs. They thank everyone for coming, invite people to eat more food and play some games since they have the space for the night, and the table disperses.

“Do you play pool, Alex?” Olivia asks.

“Not well,” he says, picking at the mostly empty basket of pepper poppers in front of him. It’s a generous assessment considering he’s only played twice in his life.

“Me neither!” she says in a way that is far too excited. “You can be Nym’s number two!”

Ramirez elbows him playfully in the ribs. “Fair warning, Valley Boy. I beat Nym almost every time, so prepare to lose.”

Alex has seen her play in the rec room, knows how competitive she gets. So far, he’s managed to avoid being on the receiving end of her terror. He rubs the back of his neck, and tries to think of a way to excuse himself. He glances at Nym for an out, or maybe permission, but he just shrugs unhelpfully. “I guess I can play a round,” Alex says, voice wavering with uncertainty. He reluctantly slides out of his chair and tugs on his shirt again. They all claim a smaller table next to the table for their drinks, which a waitress promptly refills as she makes her rounds.

Ramirez racks the balls, and Olivia beckons Alex over to the pool cues. Nym picks first and retreats to the other side of the table. Alex picks at random and follows after him.

“So is that short for anything? Your name, I mean.”

“Ah, no. It’s just Nym. My parents thought they were being creative.”

“I can’t say I know any other Nyms.”

“And I have yet to find it on any gift shop keychains,” he jokes, tossing his pool cue between hands. He has long fingers with bitten-down nails, Alex notices. “You wanna break?” He tilts his chin towards the pool table.

“I’m not in any rush to embarrass myself.”

Nym has a nice laugh, contagious. “I’ll break,” he says, stepping up to the table. Ramirez rolls him the cue ball, encouraging Olivia to talk smack with her as Nym lines up his shot. Balls fly in every direction, bouncing off the side rails. Nothing pockets, so he asks, “Stripes or solids, Alex?”

“Stripes,” he answers automatically. The two times he’s played any version of pool, he’s mistaken the 8-ball as one of his own and pocketed it by accident. Nym does a circuit around the table, sinks the 11-ball, but misses his next shot. Ramirez takes her own sweet time lining up a shot of her own.

“I like the print,” Nym says.

“What?”

“On your shirt. I didn’t peg you as the floral type.”

“Oh, I’m not.” Alex looks down at his shirt, pinching and pulling at the material. It’s subtle, stone blue and grey flowers on a navy background. He doesn’t mind the print as much as the fit. He’s worn dress shirts before, but they were never cinched in the waist - he thinks that’s the right phrase for it. It feels like a button will pop off if he sneezes, and it threatens to come untucked when he reaches over his head. Haley convinced him to wear it instead of the black v-neck he picked out when he called this morning. _I know you look amazing, Alex,_ she said as if she could see him.

“Well, it looks good.”

“Thanks. I dig your, uh, hat?” he says because it’s the only thing that isn’t part of his uniform.

Nym grins a lopsided smile, and a dimple appears on his right cheek. His eyes light up with amusement, like he’s trying to pick from a hundred different responses, only to shake his head and point at the table. “Look like it’s time to embarrass yourself, Valley Boy.”

“I’m sorry in advance for this.” Alex drags himself forward and stares at the table, pretending to look for a possible shot. The 12-ball is closest to a pocket, so he supposes he’ll go with that. His shirt constricts around his chest when he bends over.

Sam tried to coach him once, which was a mistake considering Sebastian always beat him. _It’s like throwing a ball,_ he said, _except you’re hitting it with a stick? Oh! Wait, wait. No. The balls are like the players, and you need to push them along. With another ball...hang on. There's a metaphor for this, I know it..._

And, oh God, that is so not helpful. Who even invented this? Every other sport is just getting a ball to a goal. Why complicate it by adding another ball?

He doesn’t hit the cue ball correctly. It sails past the 12-ball, kisses the rail, and bumps into one of the solids, setting up a very easy shot for Olivia. “Nice try, Alex!” she cheers while Nym and Ramirez try to politely stifle their laughter. She does manage to sink the 2-ball, but she hits it too hard and the cue ball goes with it. Nym resets and sinks three balls on his turn. Alex didn’t know dimples could look so smug.

“So how do you know Lyn?” Nym asks when he saunters back over.

“I don’t,” Alex says. Ramirez sinks a ball and knocks pool cues with Olivia in lieu of a high-five. “I’m just here for her, though I don’t think she needed me as much as she let on.”

“No better wingman than the ‘First Pro Gridballer from Stardew Valley,’ eh?” Nym says, drawing a headline in front of himself with an open palm. It’s not praise exactly, more like a soft teasing, but Alex still smirks regardless, the way he does when anyone recognizes him, and leans against the nearest surface to cant his hips.

“I mean, not to brag -”

“Oh, you’re cute when you’re cocky.”

“It’s not cocky if you can back it up.”

“Very cute,” Nym reiterates. Ramirez’s turn ends. “Shoot your shot, _Valley Boy_ ,” he snarks, gesturing towards the table.

There’s only one solid, three stripes, and the 8-ball left. Ramirez glances away from Olivia and shoots him a thumbs up. Alex tries to figure out how best to mime, _did you finally ask her on a date yet or are you still building up to it,_ but gives up after a few seconds and just nods. By the arcade machines, Aimee and Lyn kiss to celebrate a victory in their game. From this angle, Alex can see the embarrassed smile that the golden-eyed guy tries to bury in his shoulder when one of the Tunnelers defensive linemen puts a strong hand low on his back. The tables towards the front are almost entirely full with couples, young and old.

Ugh. _Romance._

Alex flubs his shot, almost tears a hole in the felt in the process, definitely deflates his ego a bit even though he knows it’d be silly to expect to win. The hand on his shoulder sends a shock right through him. He springs off the table so fast he gets lightheaded, and then there’s two hands trying to keep him steady.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Nym says when Alex motions he’s fine. “Sorry.”

“I wasn’t scared,” Alex says quickly. “Just surprised.”

And then Nym smiles again, lopsided so only the right dimple shows, because of course he does. His hands still linger, one on Alex’s bicep, the other just barely grazing his stomach. “Okay,” he says, letting his hands fall. “You weren’t scared.”

This time, when Olivia goes to take a shot, Ramirez bends down low and close to talk her through it. She maneuvers Olivia’s hands with her own, probably whispers that her grip is too tight or something because they both blush to the tips of their ears after she does it.

“That’s sweet,” Nym comments.

“Ooey-gooey,” Alex agrees.

“Think they’re gonna chicken out again?”

“Hm?”

“Previous wingman right here.” He points to himself, smiling. “No hard feelings, I’d replace me with you too.”

Alex doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. He watches Olivia sinks the cue ball again, smiles when Nym makes a show of sinking the remaining stripes. Ramirez looks ready to kill him when he feigns a yawn just before the 8-ball rolls into the corner pocket next to her. He bows, and Olivia and Alex give him a round of applause, only stopping after Ramirez begrudgingly joins in. “I want a rematch,” she huffs. “Liv, help me rack this again.”

“You’re officially my good luck charm,” Nym announces.

“Pretty sure you did all the work, dude.”

“Well, not to brag.” And they both laugh at the parroted words like it’s an inside joke or something. After a second, Nym asks, “Can I treat you to a celebratory drink?”

“Oh, no thanks.”

“Oh.”

“I just don’t drink.”

“Oh! A celebratory...cola then?”

Alex crosses his arms, and the shirt feels like a sausage casing around his biceps. His smile is lopsided. “I’ll take a lemonade if you’re gonna be so insistent.”

“I’m being polite, thanks,” Nym corrects, bouncing away to the bar. Liv seems to get the same idea because she follows after him, no doubt with another two orders. Alex casually makes his way towards Ramirez, looks over his shoulder to see the other half of his group laughing at the bar. “So, did you, uh...like, are you and Olivia _a thing_ now, or what?”

Ramirez snorts. “You make it sound like a crime or something there, Mullner.”

“Whatever. Are you?”

“Does it look like I’ve had time between turns to ask? Plus, isn’t it weird to ask _during_ the event?”

“You specifically asked me to come so you could ask her out? Or was I just gonna third wheel it back to your place?”

“Well…”

“I’m gonna ask her out for you. And I won’t be flattering.”

“Like you even _could,_ Valley Boy. How many dates have you ever been on?”

“I’ve been on dates!” he argues, voice rising. She cocks and eyebrow at him, and he corrects himself. “I...went on a date...once.” Though he doubts dancing with Sandy Collins at homecoming counts as a real date since he didn’t even kiss her. That’s what Haley says anyways. “God! Whatever - at least I don’t pine like a twelve-year-old school girl. Plus, you can totally make plans with friends during events, so why wouldn’t you be able to ask someone on a date?”

“It’s not that easy.”

And Alex doesn’t get that, why that has to be so hard. It’s clear to anyone with eyes that Ramirez and Olivia are crazy for each other. Olivia would probably launch herself into space if Ramirez invited her to go stargazing or whatever for a first date. “You’re making it way harder than it has to be.

“Oh, whatever. One day, you’ll pine after someone and get how hard it is to ask them out for real.”

“I’d never have to pine. If I liked someone, I’d just be direct and go for it.”

“All they had was pink,” Nym says when he returns, handing a glass to Alex. “You two look like you’re conspiring about something. I’m not switching teams if you think you can gang up on me. A win’s a win, Jade,” he says over the rim of his glass. He also has pink lemonade.

“We’re not conspiring.”

“Actually,” Ramirez interrupts. “We were planning a day at the pool.”

“We were?”

“We were! On Saturday.”

“Next Saturday,” Alex corrects.

“I like pools.” Olivia smiles.

Without thinking, Alex asks, “Do you own a bikini?” Ramirez elbows him in the stomach as Olivia tugs at a ribbon on her braid. “What? I ask everyone that. It’s a fair question. Nym, do _you_ own a bikini?”

“I do actually. It’s blue and looks amazing on me,” he says without any hesitation, punctuating his sentence by chugging his drink. Alex tries to wipe the image of...that from his imagination. “I actually have to head out now, so next Saturday?”

“Next Saturday,” Ramirez confirms.

“It’s a date.”

“If only,” Alex mutters under his breath, earning himself another elbow to the gut.

* * *

He hasn’t seen Haley since the move. On a Saturday near the end of July, at eight AM, she rectifies that. Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun, her sunglasses are comically huge, and her face is perfectly made up, without a single trace of sweat despite the heat. “Happy birthday!” she yells even though it was last week.

A paper bag from their favorite muffin shop and three bright pink suitcases accompany her, two empty for the shopping she plans on doing during her visit. Alex can already taste the hours worth of iced coffee, soft pretzels, and food court pizza he’ll have to work off at the gym. Haley will dress him up in clothes he’ll refuse to buy, and they’ll both complain when their feet begin to ache, but he’s excited for it. It’s something familiar, a little bit of normalcy after two long months of being alone. Kind of the perfect birthday gift really, even though it’s late.

Hayley flings her arms around his neck in an enthusiastic hug, presses a sticky kiss to his cheek because actresses do it in movies. It feels genuine anyways. Flyaway hairs tickle his cheeks. She smells like vanilla.

He squeezes her just a little too hard for just a little too long, until she laughs and says, “I missed you too!” Eventually, he lets Haley go, and they smile at each other. “So, do I get to see the place?”

Alex spreads out his arms with a grin and steps backwards, gesturing to the open space like a magician. To his left is a futon and a television that sits on a particle board stand that was left behind by the previous tenant. Past the entry closet and to his right is a dining table, though it’s really just used as a catch-all for his weights and duffel bag. All the way back is the kitchen, complete with a quartz countertops and a new microwave. Most of the cardboard boxes are stacked behind the dining table, and the few that are strewn about the space are open and half-unpacked.

“Oh, it’s so…” Haley pauses, searching for something nice to say. “It’s so _big_.”

“You said that when I moved in.”

“I mean, you didn’t exactly _do_ anything I can comment on.”

“Rude,” Alex huffs, dropping his arms. Sure, his apartment is a little bare-bones, but it’s not like it’s a dump. Everything works, and there’s no unexplained stains or odd smells (assuming he remembers to wash his gym clothes). He just prioritizes function over form. It doesn’t need to be fancy when all he does is sleep in it.

When he’s not at practice, which leaves him bone-tired on good days, he’s usually meeting with Sarah Gaines, his agent, for advice on how to brand himself and gain public interest. It’s not enough that he can throw a gridball as well as Ricky Taylor even though he’s just a rookie, he needs to be popular - no, not popular, _marketable._ He needs to be able to sell products and merchandise and give their sponsors a reason to keep funding them.

He never realized how bad he is at public speaking until he watched his first presser. Sarah assures him his Grampleton accent is cute, endearing even, but all Alex hears is someone who doesn’t belong in Zuzu City. He knows when people are laughing at him, and it seems like reporters ask his questions that highlight his prolonged vowels. It’s embarrassing.

Haley makes a face that pulls her perfectly glossed lip down, exposing her bottom row of teeth. “You could do so much with this place, Alex.” She finally steps into the apartment and passes Alex the muffin bag. Her heels echo through the space in a way that’s almost insulting. She grimaces at the futon. “How do you feel about a sectional?”

“Like it’d be a pain in the ass to get up three flights of stairs,” Alex snaps, grabbing the blueberry muffin for himself. He sets the empty bag on the counter.

Dismissively, Haley waves a hand. “Oh, please. They have people for that.”

“Whatever,” Alex huffs as Haley makes a frame with her hands. She scans the whole apartment, pinching her lips to one side or the other as she imagines picture-perfect setups. When she tilts her head, her sunglasses threaten to clatter to the floor, and her bun flops to the side.

He supposes, if he has to decorate, that he’d want something sleek and cool, lots of black and silver with wire frame furniture. Maybe he’d hang up a few posters he brought with him, get them framed so they look sophisticated. He could get smaller furniture to keep the space open, and get a black exercise mat for his weights. Guests would come over and realize he does fit in, that he doesn’t belong in a forgotten little hamlet in the middle of nowhere.

“Are you allowed to paint?”

“No.”

Haley’s frame lands on Alex, and beach blue eyes sparkle at him as if there aren’t crumbs caught in his stubble. Haley drops her hands. “I’m thinking we make this apartment a little less dude. Immediately.”

“What? No, my apartment is great.”

“It’s really not.”

Alex crosses his arms. He likes his apartment the way it is. Haley is unrelenting, however.

“C’mon. Just picture it for a second.” She gestures towards the living area and says, “A big, brown sectional to really break this space from the rest of the apartment. A coffee table with storage. A smaller entertainment center, but then we put shelves on either side. Lots of green accessories, and we do that through the whole place. Maybe a few plants?”

“None of that sounds like me.”

“You don’t need to plaster gridball wallpaper up for it to be _you._ ”

“Wow. Did you come all the way to Zuzu City just to roast me? On my birthday, no less?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, but in my defense, I picked that wallpaper when I was, like, ten.”

“That’s not what concerns me. It’s the fact you kept it for twelve years instead of immediately tearing it down when you saw how tacky it was.”

Alex tries to visualize it, he really does, but he’s just not able to fill the space the way Haley can. “Are you sure I don’t need a gridball-patterned couch?”

“I will let you have one,” she holds up her left index finger for emphasis, “gridball-shaped throw pillow that you can keep in your bedroom. That’s it.”

Alex throws up his hands in surrender and shakes his head. “Whatever. If you want to waste one of your days here furnishing _my_ apartment, be my guest.”

Haley claps her hands together and grins. They used to come to Zuzu City together all the time to shop, but they’ve never spent time in any of the furniture stores here. Well, actually, they did get lost in an IKEA once, but that was on purpose and they weren’t looking to buy anything, so it doesn’t count.

They both both grab their wallets,

“I’m guessing you didn’t do anything in the guest room yet.”

“Uh, no. It’s basically just storage.”

“Please tell me you were not intending on making me sleep on the couch.”

“I wasn’t!” Alex says defensively. “There’s an air mattress…”

“Alex Mullner, were you seriously going to put me on an air mattress for a whole week?” Haley marches out the door. “I’m going, with or without you,” she announces. Alex chases after her, grabbing his letter jacket off the back of the futon, and locks up behind them.

Just past the second landing, Alex nearly runs into someone carrying a large, heavy-looking terracotta pot filled with dirt and some kind of leafy plant that requires chicken wire to stand upright. Alex squishes towards the wall to let him pass, starts to apologize, and then recognizes the passerby’s hat. “Oh, shit! What’re you doing here?” he asks.

Nym is red in the face and a little sweaty. Apparently baggy clothes are just Nym’s thing since his jeans are definitely too big and his flannel covers an v-neck that is, at least, only a size too big. Alex wonders if he recently lost a lot of weight and just hasn’t bothered to replace his wardrobe.

“Getting interrogated in my own apartment building, apparently.”

“Your apartment building?” Alex repeats. Nym’s eyebrows knit together as he readjusts the pot, which keeps sliding down his front and pulling his shirt down too far. Alex suddenly remembers his manners. “Oh! Here, let me,” he says, snatching the pot away. What good is lifting weights if you don’t use them to help people you vaguely know lug things around? Nym lurches forward and rests his hands on his knees, breathing deeply. “Which one are you?”

“Just, uh, two? Two more flights to go. I’m on top.”

“You’re right above me then!”

“Am I?” Nym asks. His footsteps are heavy as he follows Alex up the stairs.

“Did you just move in?”

Nym laughs bitterly. “Nope. I’ve been here for, like, three years now?”

“Dude! Crazy how we haven’t ran into each other ‘til now.”

“So crazy.” He’s still panting when they reach the top, seems to be glaring at Alex for not doing the same, though Alex is purposefully trying to keep his breath even - stairs are always terrible. “You can just set it down. I’ll bring it in.”

“You sure? I really don’t mind.”

“Nah, dude. My apartment is a mess. Besides, your girlfriend seemed like she was in a rush. Shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

Alex blinks. “My girlfriend?”

“Yeah. The blonde one?”

Warmth spreads all over him, makes his fingers itch and his skin feel too tight. People always do this, tease him about Haley as if it’s impossible for them to not be dating. “Haley isn't my girlfriend,” he says. They’ve been best friends for years, ever since Alex moved to Pelican Town. He’s thought about it, sure, but...well, they just wouldn’t be a good match.

Nym disappears into his apartment. “My bad,” he says before disappearing.

* * *

It should not take four hours to look at furniture, and it absolutely should not take an additional hour to actually place the final orders on said furniture. Haley wants to confirm every piece, as if Alex has a say in the matter. _Do you want the Hemnes or the Liatorp? No, you remember. The Hemnes had three legs, but the Liatorp had those drawers with the pulls. I think the Liatorp is better, but it’s really up to you._ But it isn’t. Haley’s already picked everything, and the sales representative assures them the furniture will be delivered in the next couple days.

By the time they finally escape, Alex is starving. He’s craving steak something awful, but the smells of pulled pork and heavily seasoned fries from the Barbeque Barn across the street are calling his name. Haley shakes her head, insisting the smoke will stick in her hair if they even cross the street.

“I have to stop by Photo Hut to pick up some film I mailed in last week.”

“Can’t you just do that later?” he whines.

Haley just laughs and flounces down the sidewalk, blonde hair catching rays of golden sunlight. He doesn’t know how she still has enough energy to be so peppy, in _heels_ no less. Alex drags his feet after her, trying to ignore how much his legs feel like jelly. He’s had six-hour training sessions that have left him less exhausted than this.

“Will you stop being a baby?”

“I’m not being a baby.”

“It’s just one more errand, Alex.”

There’s a food truck called Tuna’verse parked outside the Photo Hut, so Alex orders food while Haley goes inside. By the time she’s done, Alex has two very full to-go boxes of food, a water and a bubble tea balanced on top. Haley grabs the drinks, slips the bottled water in her purse and takes a sip of her tea.

“There’s a park around the corner if you wanna eat there.”

“That’s fine.”

Diamond Park is a tiny slice of nature in the concrete city. In the far corner is a playground with slides, swings, and some monkey bars currently crawling with kids, parents and babysitters watching from blue plastic benches in the shade. A few pine trees grow near the man-made pond, jets of water shooting up in a synchronized show. Haley and Alex take the first picnic table that doesn’t look like a birdy public bathroom.

“Are you at least excited about some of the furniture?” Haley asks, pulling open her styrofoam container to inspect her food. She approves of the lobster rolls, but starts with her fries. Alex got himself the spicy salmon burger, but opted for onion rings.

The furniture she picked seems like it will be almost too big for his apartment and make it feel cramped, but he’s curious to see how it will all fit, if at all. “I guess so.”

“You aren’t acting like it.”

“No, no. I am excited. There’s just a lot on my mind, sorry. Gridball and all that.”

“Do you know what you’re playing yet?”

“Nope. I think Coach was interested in my throws during tryouts, but he’s had me on speed drills for the past couple weeks.” He doesn’t want to think about it right now, too nervous that he won’t be playing for a while. “How’s Emily?”

Haley rolls her eyes. “Same as ever. Talking about dream-scores or whatever.” She takes a sip of her drink, then stabs at the pearls with her straw. “She also keeps inviting that new girl over.”

“New girl?”

“The one that moved into Rosemary Farm before you left.”

It’s called Rosewood Farm, but Alex doesn’t correct her. “What about her?”

“Nothing. I try not to associate with her. She just enables my sister and her weird fortunes. Oh!” Haley holds up a finger, interrupting herself. “She said something about you before I left, but honestly it didn’t make any sense, so I don’t remember what it was.”

“The new girl or Emily?”

“Emily, obviously.”

“I need to make sure I’m getting my psychic advice from a professional. Too bad the middleman sucks.”

“Just watch Welwick like a sane person if you want it so bad,” Haley snaps. “And I came here to get away from my sister, thanks. I’d rather not think about her.”

“We can talk about you.”

“And all the exciting adventures I get up to in Pelican Town? Yeah, yawn.” Haley sighs. “It’s just the same old, same old. Minus you, of course.” She opens the Photo Hut envelope and starts flipping through her photos, making faces of disapproval.

Photography has been her hobby for about four years now, though now he supposes it’s more of a skill. All of her pictures are gorgeous, but Haley is so critical of every shot that nobody but him ever sees them. She wants to get into fashion, take pictures of models in impractical outfits, but she lacks the confidence to send out her pictures for publication. Alex wishes he knew what to say to make her go for it. She’s always supported him, pushed him into trying out for the Tunnelers last year even though he didn’t think he was ready for it.

She should be the one in Zuzu City, making it big, not him.

“I wish I could develop them myself. Photo Hut overexposes these. The colors look wrong.”

“Always looks like Pelican Town to me.”

“You’re required to say that.”

Alex snorts. “You literally insulted my apartment as soon as you got here.”

“You didn’t put any work into your apartment. I put a lot into my photos,” Haley snaps.

“Haley, I’d tell you if I thought your pictures sucked. That’s what best friends do. It’s in the contract.”

She doesn’t respond to that, instead takes a big bite of one of her lobster rolls. She swipes a few of his onion rings and giggles when he threatens to stab her with his plastic fork. She tucks her hair behind her ear when he’s talking between large bites. Alex has a horrifying thought, when she smiles sweetly at him, that this is something couples do. Couples buy furniture and order food for each other and have picnics in the park.

* * *

While the new season doesn’t start until Fall, there’s a two-week training camp that starts on Monday. Zuzu City University, affectionately called Zu-U, is hosting the team like they do every year so the players can train without having to commute to their home field every morning. It’s going to be dorm rooms, early mornings, and exhausting practices for ten days - with the weekend off. In about half an hour, Alex will know what position he’ll be focusing on during that camp - there’s four open starting positions, and Alex wants the running back spot more than anything.

“Look at Mullner graciously working his ass off with the rest of us though.” Andrews, a blond rookie who’s about three inches taller than Alex, throws an arm around him as they head for the locker room. Alex doesn’t mind him most days, but right now he’s running on about four hours of sleep. He and Haley stayed up late watching a movie, and then they stayed up even later just talking. He needs a nap.

Alex ducks under the arm and swipes at Andrews’ calves with his foot. “I still have to come to practice like everyone else.”

“You could knock off three days of the week and still start.”

Ramirez punches Alex playfully in the arm. She hasn’t officially asked Olivia out yet, and Alex is hoping to push it along at the pool this Saturday. “You already know my boy would explode if he had to go one day without drills.”

“Seriously, man, do you sleep or do you just go home and lift more weights?” Andrews teases.

“The valley boy thing is just a cover for the fact he’s a gridball-playing robot.”

“I get my eight hours,” Alex says, waving at Ramirez as she splits off for the ladies’ locker room. “And I’m not a robot.”

Andrews gets the door for him. “Sorry, does your kind prefer ‘android?’” he asks when Alex scoots past him, peeling off his shirt. The smell of sweat and orange disinfectant is so strong he can almost taste it, and the echoed voices of his teammates’ post-practice ribbing bouncing off the green tile make his ears ring. Andrews bypasses his own locker by the door to follow Alex towards his, deeper into the room. “Tell me, do you dream of regular sheep or electric sheep, Mullner?”

“Great job mixing robot and country there, Andrews.”

“Answer the question!”

Alex tosses his dirty shirt at Andrews’ head. “I don’t dream of any sheep.”

“Back me up on this one, Jones.”

Jones is Alex’s locker neighbor from Sunbeam County. He’s nothing but big bones and stacked muscle, an immovable force on the Tunnelers’ defensive line. Alex has been tackled by him a few times, swears his spine is still bent out of alignment because Jones hits hard. He bakes in his spare time, between practice and getting roaring drunk with Andrews that is.

“Nah, man. Last time I backed you up, I ended up paying for twenty-five shots.”

Andrews laughs and crosses his arms. “Dude, tell me that night wasn’t worth it.”

“It wasn’t, man. I don’t even remember most of it.”

“That’s how you know it was good, Jonesy! Just back me up!”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Jones shakes his head and pulls on a clean t-shirt as Alex kicks off his shoes and socks. He sprinkles in too much foot powder before shoving them in his locker. It’s better to do too much than doing too little. “Andrews thinks I’m a robot,” he says.

Jones laughs, and for a moment Alex is relieved someone is on his side, until Jones says, “Everyone knows you’re an alien.”

“Not you too.”

“I don’t know how else to explain the arm on you, Mullner.”

“Plus you look amazing in green,” Andrews chimes just as Alex drops his pants. Alex and Jones shoot him the same befuddled look, which prompts Andrews’ to say, “What? It’s true!”

“Man, aliens _are_ green. They don’t wear it.” Jones punches Andrews in the arm while Alex wraps a towel around himself. “Quit flirting with the alien and hit the showers.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not flirting. I’m interrogating.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Second of all, he looks _ridiculously_ good in green.”

Alex shakes his head and stuffs his dirty clothes in a mesh bag, stifling a fit of laughter that stings his cheeks. “Maybe I'm just _really_ good at gridball.” He grins and walks backwards, in the direction of the showers. “You should try it sometime, Andy!” Jones claps Andrews on the back, who swats him away and stalks off to his own locker, exaggerated pout puckering his lips. Jones chases after him, all smiles and teasing.

The first available stall is the second on the left, which Alex likes fine even though the nozzle sputters more than it sprays. The water isn’t nearly hot enough, lukewarm at best, but he does feel a little more human when the layer of sweat and grime that coated him circles the drain. He revels in the soreness that lingers in his muscles, that ache that says, _you did a good job out there,_ and lingers even after he stretches.

He knows he’d be a good fit if Coach played him as a fullback to Ramirez’s tailback. There is talk among the team, just whispers really, that Alex is on his way to being a star player. In a few years, the quarterback will retire, and who knows? Maybe Alex can add “first quarterback from Stardew Valley” to his list of superlatives.

Ramirez is waiting for him outside the locker room when he finishes up, jumps up on his back and ruffles his still-damp hair. “It goes down!” she exclaims as Alex tries to wrestle her off. It only encourages her to cling tighter, but eventually she gives up and lets Alex breathe. “Great job today, Valley Boy. If Coach doesn’t play you game one, I’ll fight him for you.”

“You know something I don’t?”

“I may have been asked a thing or two, but nothing solid.” She grins in a way that totally implies she knows more. Alex sighs, leading the way to the bulletin board by Coach’s office. Ramirez follows after him, bumping her shoulder into his bicep. “You’re gonna come out and celebrate right?”

“What am I celebrating exactly?” Alex smiles. “You wanna save me the trouble of finding my name?”

“No I do not.”

“So my name _is_ on the roster.”

“Everyone gets a position, even if they aren’t playing right out the gate, Valley Boy.”

There’s already a group gathered around Coach’s board when they get to the office. Alex patiently waits for an opening, doesn’t quite push but definitely works his way through the gaps. Everyone’s too wrapped up in their own business to even give Alex a hint. He’s trying not to get his hopes up too high, knows that this is all preliminary. Still, his heart sinks when he doesn’t see his name under the bold running backs title with Ramirez’s name. Half-heartedly he scans the receivers, the linemen, the defenders, keeps making way up and up and up until he sees it:

_QB2: Mullner, Alex_

* * *

A storm looms just outside Zuzu City on Thursday, and Coach gives everyone the rest of the week off, claiming he needs the time to relax before training hell gets kicked into full gear. The weatherman on KOZU 5 says there won’t be any rain until this afternoon, and Alex wants to get most of the heavy lifting done before the incoming weather saps his mood. Haley peeks out the window every fifteen minutes, fretting over the rest of Alex’s new furniture. All that’s left is the sectional and a dresser for the guest room, and they’ll have everything.

“Will you stop creeping?” Alex says from his spot on the floor. He’s been tasked with assembling the bookshelves that have been sitting in boxes since their arrival on Monday, but the diagrams are hard to follow.

“I’m not creeping,” Haley argues. “I just don’t want them to get your sectional all wet if they don’t show up on time.”

“Doesn’t it come wrapped in plastic?”

“I want to be the first to know if it doesn’t.”

“Haley,” Alex whines. “Stop creeping and come help me with this.”

“Fine.”

With Haley’s help, Alex gets both shelves up in about forty-five minutes. They break for an early lunch, which is just leftover pizza from last night. The delivery guys show up around noon, and Haley passive aggressively thanks them before directing them into the apartment. By five, his bed finally has a headboard, his dresser is organized, and his closet has a full-length mirror attached to the door. Framed posters of his sports heroes hang next to high school trophies and things he’s collected over the years. A big, green duvet printed with turtles lay on his bed, crisp and new. Just a little hint of the sea.

Haley carves out her own ocean blue spot in the guest room. Driftwood picture frames hold watercolors of palm fronds and Haley’s old shots of Cindersap Forest - ones she hates but is letting Alex keep anyways. Nautical-themed baubles including a model sailboat fill the surface of the dresser. The sheets on the bed are white, with tiny, dark blue anchors, and the duvet is the same blue with a giant white anchor embroidered on it. Above the headboard is a dark brown helm, too small to have ever been a real piece on a ship, but the aesthetic is there.

“I almost wanna take this room for myself,” Alex says.

“What you do with it when I’m not here is none of my business.”

The lights flicker, and both of them look up at the fixture before navigating to the living room, where little green pillows sit on the corners of the brown sectional. There’s a green rug under the coffee table, which is just an antique trunk where Alex can store his smaller weights when he isn’t using them. Haley did manage to find some low-maintenance houseplants for him, though Alex is convinced they’ll die the minute she leaves. The shelf to the left of the TV holds a small DVD collection and some of Alex’s books, spines uncracked. The shelf to the right holds standing photos of Alex, his grandparents, and Haley.

Haley curls up on the sectional to watch the Queen of Sauce while Alex peeks out the window to assess the storm. Rain streaks down his window in heavy streams, blurring the view. He can see the brightly lit windows of the building across the street, shapes of a family sitting down to dinner on one floor and the blue flicker of a TV on another.

“I guess we’re not going out for dinner then,” Haley says.

“And it’d be cruel to order in,” Alex agrees. Part of him wants to crawl into bed now and sleep until the storm passes. His stomach gives a timely grumble.

“What are you making then?”

Alex shakes his head. He knows he should be embarrassed. He’s twenty-two years old and still doesn’t know how to cook for himself. It’s a skill he never bothered to learn. Why would he? Granny always made his favorites, and if he ever got hungry between meals, he’d just snack on protein bars or help himself to some fruit.

He tried going to JojaMart when he first arrived in Zuzu City and got so overwhelmed by the walls of ingredients that he left without buying anything at all. How much does he have to buy? Should he get a whole spice rack? How long can he keep eggs? Should he get a half-pound of sugar or the three-pound bag? It all reminds him of word problems in math, and now he’s kicking himself for scoffing at Mrs. Jenkins when she said they would have real-world applications one day.

“I think I have some canned noodles,” Alex suggests.

Haley pinches the bridge of her nose. “How did Granny even let you move out?” She springs off the couch and makes her way into the kitchen, pushing Alex out of the way to retrieve a wok. “Even _I_ can whip up a few things, Alex.”

“So what are _you_ making then?”

“I’m going to _teach_ you how to make stir-fry.”

“Do I have stuff to make that?”

“What do you think I’ve been eating while you were at practice?” Haley asks. She pulls a bottle of oil from the cupboard. “Also have you seriously not opened your fridge since I filled it?”

“No?”

He dips into the fridge, which is finally full of all the essentials, and fishes out a handful of assorted vegetables from the crisper. His knife skills leave much to be desired, but he manages to cut everything about the same size and keep all his fingers intact. Haley is pleased to be the first to use Alex’s rice cooker.

The Queen of Sauce is making fish tacos when they return to the living room with hot bowls of food. Haley insists Alex cling to every word she’s saying, but he’s distracted by the torrents of rain and rumbling thunder to pay attention.

This weather always makes him tired, reminds him of days cooped up indoors with his dad. He remembers grey mornings and white light streaming in through his window, and a bowl of sugary cereal with cartoons. His dad would stumble out of bed around eleven, slam cupboards as he started a pot of coffee, grumbling under his breath about nonexistent messes. There would be a window when his dad was fun, would joke and laugh and ruffle Alex’s hair. But that window never stayed open long, and rain meant Alex was stuck inside when his father started drinking, couldn’t play outside as he riled himself up over scores.

Alex supposes he should be thankful his dad never actually hit him...not that he never _tried._

He tips to the side, resting his head on Haley’s warm shoulder. She lets him curl into his side and pets his hair, which he didn’t bother to gel today. A shiver courses through him, one that has nothing to do with the cold, and he curls in tighter. Another episode of the Queen lulls him to sleep, but Haley eventually wakes him up and sends him off to bed, gently reprimanding him for choosing to spend his first night in a fully furnished apartment on the couch.

Blearily, Alex stumbles down the hall to his bedroom, not bothering to flip on the light. Clean, dewy air breezes in through his window, carrying the sounds of late night traffic on soaked pavement with it. He grabs a towel he used earlier to mop up the small puddle that got in. The rain has finally slowed to a trickle, and streetlights cast misty halos in the dark. Zuzu City never sleeps, but it does calm down to something very near silence. Alex leans on the sill of his open window, taking it all in.

Music drifts down from the floor above him, played on a flute Alex guesses. The melody is slow and sweet and little bit sad. Sometimes, a note is a bit too sharp, but it’s still a pretty sliver of music. It’s almost familiar, something Granny would hum while washing dishes or something. When Alex closes his eyes, he can almost pretend he’s back in Pelican Town, where the air is clean and sweet and there’s always a breeze coming off the ocean.

He doesn’t listen to much music. Many of his teammates are into making playlists with fast beats to work out to, to help them zone out while they get in their steps. A lot of it grates Alex’s nerves or is so heavy it’s distracting. He’s never needed help focusing on his workouts. They’re a lot of work, but he genuinely enjoys it. Besides, the music he does like is too slow and sentimental for pumping iron.

“What were you playing?” Alex asks, and immediately regrets it because something clatters on the fire escape and Nym starts whispering curses. Alex looks up, only sees shadows through the wrought iron slats above.

“Holy shit, how long have you even been there?” he hisses.

“Just a few minutes. I wasn’t trying to creep.”

“You know, only creeps point out they weren’t being creepy.”

“What were you playing?” he asks again.

His neighbor makes a sound, a sharp inhale as he calms himself down. A silence drags on, and Alex thinks maybe his neighbor has retreated back inside until he finally says, “Just a little thing for fun,” he mutters, like he’s embarrassed, then says more confidently, “I didn’t know I had an audience or I would’ve pulled out the Ocarina Greatest Hits: Volume Two.”

“Volume two?”

“Volume one sucks, trust me.”

Alex laughs. “It was really nice.”

“Thanks. I’ll be sure to bring my A-game for the next impromptu concert.”

“Can I buy tickets in advance?”

“Floral shirts _and_ a patron of the arts? You, Alex Mullner, are not the typical meathead.”

“Thanks? I guess. Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

Nym makes a sound like he’s thinking about it but can’t quite settle on an answer. Alex imagines an exaggerated show of pursed lips and a finger brought to the chin, Nym’s head canting to the side as he ponders. “It could be,” Nym finally decides.

“Oh?”

“Times are tough for starving artists, Alex. I like eggplant.”

“God. Goodnight, Nym.” Alex says, voice full of exasperation. “Know that I am rolling my eyes at you right now,” even though he’s really not. He’s grinning like an idiot, cheeks bunched up so tightly his jaw hurts.

“Is that a ‘yes’ on the dinner?” Nym asks.

“It could be,” Alex parrots. “Are you still coming on Saturday?”

“To what?”

“The pool?”

Nym makes a dissatisfied noise. “I did say yes to that, didn’t I?” He thinks it over for a moment. “Am I gonna be fifth wheeling it?”

“Haley isn’t my girlfriend,” Alex insists. “And she’s leaving Friday night.”

“Oh.”

“I just need help bullying Ramirez, really.”

“Well, when you put it that way, I’ll definitely be there.”

“Cool. If you want a ride, we’re leaving at nine.”

“Bunch of early birds, aren’t you?”

“I guess. Goodnight for real though, Nym.” He doesn’t stop smiling, even when he buries his face in his pillow and he’s swathed in the smell of lavender soap and vanilla. A horn blares a few streets over, immediately drowned out by a slow melody from Nym’s ocarina. Alex falls asleep fast. He dreams of sheep.

* * *

The bus station is busy with commuter traffic when Haley and Alex arrive. Four buses are parked along the terminal. According to the marquees, the blue one is heading for Capital City; the red one is going to Voss, a beach town by the Gem Sea; the green one to Castle Village; and the white one to Pelican Town. A garbled voice interrupts the bouncy pop music playing over the intercom to announce two of the buses will be leaving the station in five minutes. The music resumes after a horrifically loud screech of feedback.

Haley doesn’t have to brave the line since her return ticket is tucked safely inside her purse. Bright sunlight bounces off the concrete building and sidewalk, making the already hot weather feel even hotter. An attendant takes Haley’s tightly-packed suitcases to the correct bus and loads them in the luggage compartment under the bus. So this is it. Haley is really leaving again.

The selfish part of Alex wants to grab all her bags and shove them in the cab, and the lonely part of him wants to ask her to move in, to make the guest room _her room_ . Permanently. It’s already decorated how she likes it, and everything she could want is no more than a cab ride away from his apartment. She doesn’t _have_ to go back to Pelican Town.

“Don’t start crying because I’ll start crying,” Haley warns. Her sunglasses block her eyes, but he hears a telling waiver in her voice.

He looks away, blaming the brightness of the sun for making his eyes prickle. _I don’t cry,_ he wants to say. His sinuses sting and swell. She hugs him tightly, and he wants to say, _I don’t cry anymore._ She’ll be back for his birthday in summer, but that’s too far away. Months away. It may as well be a lifetime. _Don’t leave,_ he wants to say. _Don’t leave, and I’ll never cry again,_ bargaining like a child making empty offers.

“Promise me you won’t kill your plants,” Haley says. She swipes a hand over her cheek.

“I’ll try to be a good plant dad.”

“And don’t replace me with someone else.” Haley smooths nonexistent wrinkles out of his shirt, an excuse to touch him just a little longer. “I won’t come back if you find a new best friend.”

Alex laughs, hugging her again. He thinks of Ramirez and Olivia and Nym, and how none of them are even remotely close to being best friend material. None of them know what Alex has been through, or even gets it, like Haley does. He can’t imagine opening up to anyone else like this. “I could never replace you.”

They separate, and Haley walks backwards towards the white bus, waving as she goes. The doors shut, the hydraulic system lifts the bus a foot up, and then, with a deafening backfire, it’s gone. Alex doesn’t cry, but he wants to.

* * *

The pool plan gets rained out, which is actually great news since Alex needs to do laundry before camp. Admittedly, he hasn’t been keeping up with it and has just been masking the smell with sprays and powders, something Haley would shame him about if she’d seen him do it. His overfilled laundry basket is a weird cocktail of BO, lavender, and baking soda. He grabs his detergent from his bathroom and makes his way downstairs.

There’s some coin-fed washers and dryers in the basement of the building that Alex has only used a few times. It’s late enough that most of the machines are unoccupied, one in the corner humming away obnoxiously. His laundry has to be spread among three machines. He doesn’t bother separating his whites since most of his whites are just underthings. Granny can probably sense it too, will ask him about it next time she calls just to tell him he’ll make his perfectly good clothes look dingy.

The machine in the corner buzzes obnoxiously to announce the end of its cycle, causing Alex to drop his open bottle of detergent in the first machine. Too much gushes out before Alex manages to fetch it, and he breathes out a frustrated, “Dammit.”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” asks a familiar voice. Alex snaps his head to the doorway to see Nym with an empty basket on his hip. He’s wearing an oversized tank top that threatens to slide off his shoulder, collar dipping down low to expose a peek of his chest, and a pair of blue, striped boxers as shorts. He’s not wearing his hat, but apparently Nym is required to wear at least one irredeemable article of clothing because a bright purple fanny pack is buckled around his hips and the ugliest, olive green slippers grace his feet.

“Not recently,” Alex says as Nym shuffles to his machine and starts fishing for his clothes. They land in his basket with wet slaps, not that Alex is paying attention to that. “What the fuck is on your feet?”

Nym strikes a pose. “Fuzzy clogs! Aren’t they terrible? I love them.”

“They are the worst things I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Which means you’re definitely getting a pair for Winter Star.”

“I would literally pay you not to do that.” Nym shuffles over to the dryer that went off earlier and starts pulling out laundry. Alex doesn’t stare at the curve of his spine, turns back to his own laundry. “Sorry the pool trip got cancelled,” Alex says.

“Sad you missed out on my bikini, huh?”

Alex blushes and immediately changes the subject. “So how’re things at Joja?”

“Oh, y’know. The usual soul-sucking bullshit.”

Misery and exhaustion leak out of Nym’s voice. Alex remembers the JojaMart employees back in Pelican Town, how exhausted Shane and Sam always looked after a particularly long shift. That JojaMart wasn’t even busy, barely serviced enough people to justify it being there. He can’t even imagine what people in Zuzu City have to do. If he asks why Nym doesn’t just quit, he’s sure he’ll get the same answer he got from Shane: _How else am I supposed to pay the bills, asshole?_

“What exactly do you do there?”

“My official title is Data Collection and Management Agent.”

“Sounds like something smart people do.”

“Not that smart. A head of cabbage could do my job.”

Alex laughs. “I think you’re a little more skilled than a head of cabbage.”

“High praise!” Nym hoists himself on the washing machine to Alex’s left, the one that’s already going. He’d be taller than Alex if he wasn’t slouching, but they’re basically eye-to-eye. The lid could collapse, and Nym would sink into the spin cycle, and Alex would laugh instead of helping him. “But really. It’s not anything important. Not that accounting was all that important either.”

“Why’d they move you from accounting?”

“Because I didn’t think Joja could actually get worse.” Nym sighs. “And you’re probably wondering why I don’t just quit, huh?”

“I guess I am,” Alex says. “I just can’t imagine doing something like that if you’re miserable all the time.”

Nym shrugs. “I guess I just don’t have a calling like you do.”

“No?”

“Nope.”

“Huh.” Alex hums, patting down his sweats for some loose change. He’s a quarter short on his last machine, and he really doesn’t want to go back upstairs to find one. Nym digs in his fanny pack, produces a quarter, and scoots over to perch on his middle machine. The way he leans over makes his collar bones jut out, and his tank top hangs away from his body. If he was a girl, he’d probably care that Alex could see right down his shirt.

“Thanks,” he breathes when Nym says, “There.”

He has these tired, faraway eyes that seem to never focus on anything entirely. Puffy bags hang under his eyes, the same ones that bruise the faces of every Joja employee Alex has ever come across. They’re a very nice shade of blue, Alex thinks, and they look darker when his eyes are half-lidded like that.

The only person Alex has ever kissed is Haley, and he only kissed her because she dared him to. Well, it was less of a dare and more like she was picking on him, making up a song about Alex’s shortcomings in the zone of romance. She was taller than him back then. Twelve-year-old Alex always had something to prove, so while Haley tittered on about him being a chicken, Alex went for it. He bruised both their mouths. Haley laughed at him, told him he was the worst kisser in the world as he tried to scrub her sticky, cherry-flavored lip gloss off his mouth.

It wasn’t exactly an experience that inspired confidence. Or interest for that matter. So what if Alex Mullner isn’t a good kisser? Add it to the list, with math and English and pretty much every academic and art out there. He’s got better things to do, more important things to do, than swap spit with some girl. His disinterest could only work to his advantage.

Nym doesn’t wear lip gloss, and he’s not teasing Alex. They’re in a dingy basement that smells like wet cement and lint, with barely enough light to illuminate anything. Nym is shaking, and Alex thinks it’s not just because of the washing machine he’s sitting on. His lashes fan across his cheeks when he slides them closed. His lips are parted. His nose bumps against Alex’s.

The fact Alex wants him to close the miniscule gap so badly is terrifying.

Before it happens, though, Alex blurts the first thing that pops into his mind. “Plants,” he squawks.

Nym startles, lurches backwards with wide eyes. Alex wonders if his mouth is tingling as much as his, resists bringing a hand up to feel. “What?”

“Plants,” Alex repeats more firmly, putting more space between them. He feels dizzy and nervous, breathless from a kiss that didn’t happen. Words sputter out him like a busted fountain. “Can you water them while I’m at gridball camp? For two weeks while I’m gone? I just have two in the living room. Honestly, you don’t have to. They can go a while without water.”

“Gridball...oh! Right! Yeah, Morris said something about that in the meeting yesterday.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. Yeah. Sure. I can water your plants, Valley Boy.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. Okay. I’m just gonna...go then. Upstairs now.”

“God, what is that hand situation?” Nym laughs when Alex tries to shoot some odd mix of finger guns and a thumbs up at him. He settles on a peace sign somehow before retreating towards the door.

“Thanks, Nym!” he says before he makes his hasty escape.

Alex goes to bed with a heart galloping so fast in his chest he’s sure it’s going to crash through his ribs and do laps around his bedroom. He tries to convince himself that this reaction is just surprise, that the butterflies in his stomach aren’t actually there. He should call Haley. It’s nearly eleven o’clock, but he should call her. She’d know what to do about this. No, actually, scratch that. She’d tease him relentlessly about it, say it was a good call to not kiss him because he’d just bruise his mouth. Besides, what’s there to say? _Hey, Haley. I know it’s late, but a guy almost kissed me. Which is weird because I don’t like guys. I can’t have those feelings for a guy._ God no. They’re best friends, but that doesn’t mean he has to tell her about things that _almost_ happened. That seems like such a waste of breath.

Minutes tick by, and Alex strains his ears for the creaking of floorboards above him or the sound of Nym’s ocarina, anything that would let him know Nym’s not still lurking in common areas so he can fetch his laundry. Maybe if he wakes up at four AM - and oh, God, is it seriously after midnight already? - he can dry it all really quick and still have time to pack.

He falls asleep staring at the ceiling and dreams of running down a gridball field, the entirety of the Capital City Kings chasing after him, except they’re sheep. It’s storming. The endzone never gets closer no matter how hard he pumps his legs. Haley runs next to him, ugly trucker hat crushing her blonde curls. _Rules are rules, Alex,_ she says. _You don’t get points for trying._

He does not wake up at four AM. With a curse, Alex leaps out of bed and scrambles to his front door. His laundry is on his doorstep the next morning, dry and folded. It’s not doubt the work of Nym, and Alex makes a mental not to thank him for saving him the trouble of trying to dry his laundry in time to leave for camp. He fishes through it all for underwear, socks, and a few sets of sweats to throw in his duffel. His pads should already be packed on the bus that’s scheduled to leave the field at six AM.

Ramirez saves him an aisle seat in the back of the bus, behind Andrews and Jones. They’re having a sluggish conversation, clearly just exchanging niceties before passing out for the next hour. Alex wants to do the same, but he took a freezing cold shower just to shock himself awake. He can’t stop thinking about how Nym looked in the near-dark or how his mouth still tingles with the word _maybe._

“Stop bouncing your leg so much. It’s annoying,” Ramirez complains halfway through the trip, eyes still closed. She’s using Alex like a pillow.

“Sorry,” Alex says.

“Wanna talk about what’s bugging you?”

“Not really.”

“Then be a better pillow.”

Alex sighs while Ramirez gets more comfortable. He can’t feel his right arm, but it’s fine. “I’ll try to be more inanimate for you.”

“Thank you.”

He can’t stop fidgeting though.

They get stuck in traffic, but get to the campus more or less on time. A security guard is waiting to unlock the buildings for them. Coach announces room assignments as everyone shuffles into the dorms. Alex gets paired with a veteran player named Holtz, one of the linemen who he never really talks to, in Room 103. Andrews and Jones are in the room next door, and Ramirez is down the hall with a woman named Steph.

The rest of Sunday still belongs to the team. Almost everyone goes back to bed. A few make breakfast plans, but Alex decides to check out the field. He wants to know what he’s working with for the next two weeks, maybe (definitely) workout a bit to calm his nerves.

The field is big, all astroturf instead of the real deal. Alex hates it. Despite all the scientists and researchers who claim it’s just as safe as grass, it feels different under his feet, like he can’t get a grip. He’s always a little terrified he’ll slip and get a career ending knee-injury or something, or at least a mortifying faceplant in front of a stadium full of people looking for any reason to not like him.

But if he can play on this, he can play on the real stuff, right?

The voice in the back of his head, the one that calls him stupid, yells a huge, all caps _NO_ right into his ear. If he ever got the chance to get on that field, he’d just screw it up the same way he screws up everything else. There’s a line, a tightrope that stretches up high, and the bleachers are full of his critics. There’s no net to catch him if he falls, but he climbed all the way up here. It took ages to get up this high. He’s past the point of no return. The people want a show, but he never learned how to walk a rope, only knew that he wanted to get here.

The butterflies from last night have morphed into bees. No, something more aggressive. Like those wasps that burrowed into the roof of his grandparents’ house when he was a junior in highschool. They were right above his room, buzzing through the night for a month before Alex reported it to his grandpa. It took ages to exterminate them.

Realization hits him like an offensive line.

Haley had this rule in high school, about crushes. If you still like them after a vacation, after some sort of forced period of zero contact, then the crush is real and you can act on it. Not that he’s putting Nym in the crush category, but he must be Nym’s crush at the very least. The rule still applies. Alex has never had a crush last after a vacation, and he figures nobody could like him without seeing him every day.

Okay, well that sounded a little harsh on himself, but whatever. This will be good.

Alex will focus on gridball, and Nym will focus on...whatever interests he has, and they never have to talk about the almost kiss in the basement. They’ll just go back to being friendly neighbors who make an awesome pool team and bully Ramirez and Olivia about being so grossly in love all the time. Yes. Perfect.

He spends an hour just running the field, slides a few times because he’s not wearing cleats, but he thinks he’s getting the hang of sharp turns. Ramirez, Andrews, and Jones join him, armed with some light teasing and jokes about Alex’s inhuman dedication to the sport and a new nickname.

“Figured you’d be out here, Baby QB! We brought a ball!” Andrews cheers.

“That’s not allowed to stick,” Alex huffs when Ramirez runs in to pinch his cheeks.

It’s nothing serious, more of an excuse to play keepaway and rough house until one of their stomachs growl. They get BLTs at a sandwich shop off campus, kill another hour before heading back to the dorms, shower (not together, obviously), and settle down to watch a movie (some action flick with lots of explosions) before dinner (meatloaf in the cafeteria). When he gets back to his room, he’s still buzzing with extra energy, so he decides to unpack his bag and make use of the dressers for the next two weeks.

In the bottom of his duffel is a blue envelope addressed to him in handwriting he doesn’t recognize. He considers, briefly, just tossing it because Alex Mullner doesn’t do letters, but he’s curious.

_Dear Alex,_

_That’s weird, right? The whole ‘dear’ thing. I hope it doesn't make the fact that I'm writing to you weirder. I figured you needed these dried and it would make your morning a little easier. I hope you have fun at camp._

_Nym_

_P.S. I promise I won’t let your plants die._

_P.S.S. Or snoop through your stuff._

As soon as he finishes reading the note, he scans over it again. It must have been in his laundry and made its way into Alex’s duffel in the rush to pack this morning. He resists reading it a third time, tries not to mark the way Nym’s Ys look like 4s. His handwriting is actually sloppier than his own, which is saying something. For a brief moment, Alex considers writing something back until he remembers the only thing worse than his handwriting is his handle on words themselves. There’s a reason he didn’t play college-level gridball before trying out for the Tunnelers. What would he even say?

_Dear Nym - Got your letter. Camp is fine. - Alex._

Seems like a waste of postage.

_P.S. Just training to be the Tunnelers’ second quarterback, no big deal._

No.

_P.S.S. It’s kind of a big deal._

Absolutely not.

Still though, it’s nice imagining Nym bent over a dryer, writing his letter while waiting for Alex’s clothes to dry. He likes the two post-scripts, like little afterthoughts. No, like thoughts of Alex linger just a little longer than they were supposed to. Typical crush behavior. Holtz complains about the lamp passive-aggressively, and Alex turns it off after carefully folding his note and placing it safely in the front pocket of his backpack.

_P.S.S.S. It’s hard to sleep when you’re drafting a letter that probably breaks Haley’s crush rule._

To get a gauge on where the team is at with their new official roster, Cappy, the team’s starting quarterback and team captain, wants to run some scrims. He splits the Tunnelers straight down the middle with Alex as the opposing captain. Ramirez, Andrews, and Jones are all on his team, not that it keeps them from getting absolutely obliterated. Alex knows the strategies, knows the plays that Cappy is running, but he can’t coordinate his team. Right tackle takes a while to realize Alex is, in fact, left handed; they either don’t protect his blind side at all and let him take a hit or he misses his window for a pass because he’s too busy looking over his own damn shoulder. It’s annoying, if not more than a little painful. They only find their stride at the very end of the game, but it doesn’t matter since they don’t have enough time to score a point.

Insecurity bubbles up in his throat like acid. Cappy calls for a break, then claps a hand on Alex’s shoulder pad to lead him to the bench. He leaves to get two cups of sports drink, then sits down next to him. Alex wants to sulk, doesn’t want to hear Cappy lecture him or tell him he didn’t try hard enough. This whole camp was a waste of time. Alex shouldn’t even be here.

“We just need to get you in tune with the team,” Cappy says. “You’re doing fine.”

Alex nods, chews on his tongue to keep the insecurity from spilling off it. It sucks to be on the other side of an asskicking two days in a row. “Why me?” he gripes pathetically. He clears his throat, looks at Cappy, then adds, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m excited, but I’m just a rookie. I thought I’d be put somewhere a little less…”

“Stressful?”

“Important.” And Alex hates this. He hates feeling like this, and he hates saying it out loud. He’s on the tightrope, and he doesn’t know how to walk it. This is what he wanted, all he’s talked about since his mom taught him how to throw a gridball properly. He should be happy. He should be working harder. This is his dream after all. What happened to the buckets of confidence he used to have? “Like, why? I haven’t even _done_ anything to deserve it.”

Cappy doesn’t answer him right away, chugs the rest of his sports drink instead. “Because I like your style, kid. You dragged some team from the middle of nowhere to the championships when you were in high school. Pinged my radar, and if I had it my way, we woulda had you on the team as soon as you graduated.”

Alex chews on his bottom lip, tearing off a bit where it’s chapped. Cappy has this way of just inspiring the team and telling them exactly what they need to hear exactly when they need to hear it. An embarrassed blush creeps up the back of Alex’s neck, and he’s thankful for all the dirt and grime that’s probably keeping it invisible when it reaches his cheeks.

“You have a great tactical sense on the field too, Mullner.” He ignores the way Alex scoffs. “I told you that you just need to sync up with the team. That’s not an overnight thing, kid.”

“But-”

“Do you wanna be a runner and waste that perfectly good arm?”

“I...no.”

“You wanna be a quarterback, right?”

“I mean, obviously.”

“Alright then. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but you’ve got this, kid.”

_P.S.S.S.S. Cappy is amazing._

_P.S.S.S.S.S. Shouldn’t there be multiple Ps instead of Ss?_

Camp is better after that conversation, but uneventful. It’s not a waste of time. Alex has fun, really. He gets to know his team better, and they get to know him. Sometimes, he forgets that Nym tried to kiss him.

* * *

Alex’s first Saturday back in his apartment is spent icing a sore shoulder. It’s nothing career-threatening, just a touch of muscle strain from overworking it. He catches snippets of Queen of Sauce and Welwick’s Oracle between naps. It’s officially the most boring and least productive Saturday he’s had in the past five years. It’s a little invigorating really. Around six, there’s a knock on the door. Alex almost doesn’t get it, but the second knock is louder and more insistent, and the third even moreso.

All things considered, he should have known it’d be Nym, signature hat back on his head. “Hey!” Nym says with a friendly grin too big for his face, like he plastered it on. His eyes immediately drop down and widen, eyebrows disappearing under the strap of his hat. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

“Nope.”

“That’s cool. A really bold outfit choice for sure. The ladies will love it.” He makes uncomfortably direct eye contact.

Clearly Nym doesn’t spend enough time in gym locker rooms if a bare chest makes him uncomfortable. Still, Alex retrieves his shirt off the back of the couch. His shoulder still tweaks a little when he lifts his arm up, but it should be gone by tomorrow. It’s definitely not as bad as it was on Friday. “Did you need something or?”

“Nope! Wait, actually.” He shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts in order, and holds up a glass dish covered with tin foil “Yes? I was going to ask if you wanted to eat dinner with me?”

With a quick gesture, Alex ushers Nym inside. “That’s really nice of you.”

“I figured you wouldn’t want to cook your first night back.”

“What’d you bring?”

“I had some leftover lasagna. I always make a whole pan, but I can never eat it all,” he says. “Twenty minutes in the oven and it’ll be perfect, if you don't mind.” He points at the kitchen.

“Go for it.” Alex follows Nym into the kitchen and puts his mostly thawed ice pack in the freezer.

“Hope you don't mind eating late.”

“It’s whatever. Probably better than just downing a shake and going to bed,” Alex admits.

“God, I thought all you gridballers ate, like, steak every day. And didn’t skip meals.”

“I wish,” Alex laughs. “It's a lot of dieting. Fish and stuff.” He’s learned to love most of it through the years, though he still hates how much kale he has to choke down because it’s supposedly good source of vitamins - Alex would rather just take supplements even though he hates taking pills.

“Oh. I guess I didn't think about that…”

“I can still eat your lasagna, don't worry.”

They hang out in the kitchen while the food cooks, talking about nothing in particular. Nym asks about Ramirez and Haley (both fine), how Alex likes the city (he’s been too busy to see much of it), and practice (stressful). The lasagna smells great, garlic and cheese teasing his nose and making his mouth water. Nym explains it’s vegetarian when he pulls it out of the oven. Alex can see the layers of eggplant between the noodles when Nym puts heaping servings on each plate.

“Are you a vegetarian?”

“Semi? Like, not on purpose. I just kind of wind up liking stuff without meat. Though, I eat a lot of pre-packaged crap from JojaMart too, so it’s not like I’m being health-conscious.”

“There’s not exactly a lot of veg options in the city,” Alex agrees. JojaMart has a small selection, and none of it lasts very long once it’s bought, he’s noticing. Alex misses the fresh options back home. “When are your tomatoes gonna be ready?”

“Not for a couple weeks,” Nym says, “and even then that’s assuming they don’t die. I’m worried they get too much sun out here. My sister says they should be fine.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yeah! We’re twins. I’m the older one. Actually, this is gonna sound totally weird, but my sister lives where you’re from.”

“Hm?”

“Pelican Town? Our grandpa had a farm there.”

And now Alex knows why he recognizes the logo on Nym’s terrible hat. It’s the dumb moose mascot for the gas station outside of town, the one his own grandpa never went to even though it was closer. God, how did he even forget it? “Holy shit, no way! Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

Nym shrugs, embarrassed. “It never came up organically?” He retreats to the living room and plops on the sectional. Alex takes the seat next to him.

“Dude! My grandparents knew yours!”

With a snort, Nym adds, “We met before, too, y’know.”

“We did?”

“Oh, just at the fair one year? I kicked your ass at the fishing game.”

Alex barely remembers it, but still says, “I’ve never quite recovered from that loss. Ruined my perfect record. I expect an apology.”

“Oh? Didn’t I tell you this is apology lasagna? My debt is paid.”

There’s this terrible ghost hunting show that Olivia turned him on to. It’s obviously staged, but it’s funny regardless to see faux tough guys get scared when they try to square up with nonexistent demons. The host gives a detailed description of how one of his gadgets supposedly works. The lasagna is delicious and cheesy, and Alex thinks he might actually like eggplant more than he thought he did. It tastes better than restaurant food, almost as good as Granny’s cooking. He goes back for seconds and wonders how hard it would be to convince Nym to cook for him again.

“So what aren’t you good at?” Alex asks. “Because so far you’re three for three in things I’ve seen you do that I can’t. Well, four for four if I count the game from however long ago.”

Nym beams at the praise. “I’m good at everything,” he says. “And even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t tell you my weaknesses. I’ve played enough _Solarion Chronicles_ to know that can be used against me.”

“Ugh. You’re one of _those_ people.”

“One of what people?”

“A huge nerd,” Alex says, flopping back into his spot to shovel more food into his mouth. Sebastian plays that game too, with Sam and Abby. On Halloween, they’d all run around dressed as their characters. Alex hates to admit it, but their armor actually looked kind of cool considering it was handmade. Sometimes, Sebastian would block a path in the hedge maze and pose stupid riddles like some kind of goblin. It was annoying as hell.

“Okay, first of all, _rude,”_ Nym huffs. “Second of all, I’m guessing you’ve never played it.”

“Nope. I play like, actual sports.”

“ _Solarion Chronicles_ is good, and you should give it a chance.”

“Absolutely not.”

“C’mon. I have the video game version of it. We could co-op.”

“Oh my God. That’s worse. That’s literally twice the nerd. Is that the cost of being good at everything: you’re just the biggest nerd of all?”

Nym sticks his tongue out, like a six-year-old, and it sparks something childish in Alex too. He sets down his plate on the arm of the couch and hooks his arm around Nym, putting him in a headlock. Nym flails to the right, and they tumble. Alex is careful not to lean all of his weight completely on Nym. His plate of food is nearly punted off the couch, and Alex lets go of Nym to right it. “You’re such such a brute! You’d be a perfect warrior,” Nym says, not bothering to sit up.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Come on! It’ll be fun!” He nudges Alex’s leg with his foot. “I promise, you’ll pick it up fast.” He rolls off the couch, then springs to his feet. “Actually, hang on! Stay right there!” And then Nym bolts out of his apartment without bothering to shut the door. Alex listens to the dull thud of his socked footsteps as he races up the stairs. He’s gone for about two minutes before he rushes back down and slides in front of the TV. “Look! It’ll take three seconds to hook up.”

Alex laughs, but doesn’t intervene while Nym messes with wires and inputs. The cover art for _Solarion Chronicles: The Video Game_ features a night scene of a dark tower haloed by a full moon. Positioned around it are the main characters. A large, grizzled man with sideburns, heavy armor, and a two handed sword stands in the middle. To the right is a purple-robed character with fire coming out of his hand - the one Sebastian always plays. To the left is a woman in a white and gold robes holding a staff with a shiny blue gem. There are skulls plastered all over the cover that’s meant to look scary, Alex supposes, but instead it just looks cheesy.

Nym gets the system loaded up, hits ‘New Game,’ and lets the opening cutscene play. It starts with a flash of lightning. Dreadlord Xarth, clearly the bad guy, is shown raising legions of the dead with an all powerful staff called the Solarion Staff. His terror spreads across the land, enveloping it in darkness. People suffer. Things are bleak. The scene fades to black, and the game prompts the players to pick their characters.

Surprisingly, Nym picks the healer instead of the wizard.

“Really? You play the girl?”

“Usara is super OP by chapter eight. Also, she’s cool as fuck, so shut up and pick Masicur like I know you want to.”

Alex picks the warrior. A tutorial scene begins, and Nym talks him through the buttons, and how co-op works. It’s a side scrolling exploration game with turn-based battle encounters - Alex isn’t...entirely sure what all of that means, but Nym keeps saying it so it must be mostly common knowledge. When Masicur has a shield equipped, he can bash not only enemies, but pots and barrels that drop gold, potions, and equipment. An hour passes, and then another, and then it’s midnight and Alex is having more trouble focusing than he usually does.

He tries to muffle a yawn, but it forces its way out of him when he stretches, turns into an obnoxious groan when his back pops. He drapes his arms over the back of the couch, and Nym leans back. The bill of his hat bumps Alex’s arm, and it slides over his eyes. Alex flicks it off completely. Being idle and lazy always makes Alex feel guilty and antsy. Time isn’t his to waste, it never has been. But he doesn’t feel any of that right now. Right now, he kind of wants to ruffle some life into the crushed curls.

Nym frowns at him and asks, “Way past your bedtime, Valley Boy?”

“Definitely.”

“But you’re having fun, right? Like, maybe waste another Saturday with me kinda fun?”

“It’s not my thing,” but he likes that Nym shared it with him. “I guess I’m invested in the whole...storyline thing.”

“Very specific.”

“Do you wanna come over again?”

Nym smacks Alex’s stomach with the back of his hand. He didn’t realize his shirt had ridden up so much. “Pretty sure I asked you first, dude.”

“I don’t have anymore Saturdays to waste. Preseason now, then the real deal in October.”

“I don’t do the whole sports thing, but I thought games were on Sunday.”

“They are, I just can’t have a dork like you keeping me up ‘til midnight every weekend.”

A smile pulls at Nym’s lips, something sly, like he enjoys being called out on what a bad influence he is. It’s not a smile that says _we don’t have to stay up ‘til midnight._ Alex smiles one that says _I dare you_ back at him. He remembers what Andrews said about skipping practice every once in a while. “We can waste a Tuesday, if you want.”

“That’s random.”

“The Stardew Valley fair. I was gonna drive down and see my folks. You could come with.”

“Isn’t that in September?”

“After the preseason.”

“So in a month then?”

“It’d be worth the wait.”

Nym chews on his bottom lip and replaces his hat. He nods his head, and his expression is unreadable when he looks at Alex. “You’re cute when you’re cocky, Mullner.” He stands up and starts making his way around the couch and towards the front door.

It’s not a no.

The butterflies are back, and they mix with Alex’s pre-game nerves unpleasantly. Or not? Alex doesn’t know, he’s just horribly aware that he won’t be sleeping tonight. And he probably won’t be sleeping until they go to the fair in September. In the back of his mind, Ramirez is teasing him, and so is Olivia, but the loudest voice is Haley.

* * *

Cappy works him hard during practice, works everyone hard. They win their first match against the Capital City Kings by a landslide, and, while Alex doesn’t get to play, he’s feeling more confident than ever thanks to the extra coaching during practice. His technique is better, he’s stronger, and he’s throwing Hail Mary-worthy passes with deadly accuracy. At the end of the second preseason match, Zuzu City Tunnelers v Gem Sea Gilligans, Cappy goes down in the endzone. Hard. There’s a snap. He’s rushed to medical with a broken leg before anyone in the stadium gets the chance to cheer for his game-winning touchdown.

The presser is...more of a downer. Ramirez takes the lead, tries to keep the reporters from being too invasive. _Sports come with hazards, and Mullner has been working hard. He’s ready for this._ The rest of the team seems iffy on that, Alex included.

If he were back in Pelican Town right now, he’d sneak outside with a towel and a blanket and curl up with Dusty, his fourteen-year-old, one-hundred-and-eighty-pound great dane, in his pen under the stars and just talk to him. He would cock his head or lick Alex’s hand when he needed it, let Alex vent about every little problem.

He calls Haley as soon as he gets home, even though it’s late.

“Hey, stranger,” she says. “Am I supposed to...congratulate you after today or...offer condolences or something? What’s the protocol on this type of thing?”

“I don’t know. Can we not talk about it, though? It’s kind of a -” It seems insensitive to say _sore subject,_ so he doesn’t finish the thought. “I miss you,” he says instead.

“Is that why you’re calling me at eleven-thirty at night?”

“We haven’t talked in forever.”

“I know! I feel so neglected,” Haley laughs. “But I get it. You’ve been busy.”

“And you?”

She hums that coy little sound she does when she has gossip she’s aching to share. She did it all the time in high school after Alex’s games, when she spent most of the first quarter under the bleachers - not that he’s judging. Haley’s allowed to do that kind of thing. “Also busy.”

“Hey, hey, hey! I should not have to demand information as the best friend.”

“It’s nothing! Tentative. Still in the works.”

“Afraid you’re gonna jinx it?”

“Maybe.”

“So, there is something to jinx? Do I need to start throwing out names? Do I know him?”

_“Her,”_ Haley corrects. “And you might?”

“So it is someone in Pelican Town then?” he teases.

“How about we put your love life on blast right now?”

“I don’t...have one?”

“Is that a question?”

Alex pulls at some loose strings on a hole in his jeans. Haley doesn’t, like, _know_ Nym. It’s safe to talk to her about him, right? No, wait. That’s not a real question. It’s Haley. If it’s not safe to talk about something with her, then he’d be in some deep trouble. If he can tell her about his dad and mom and every little thing that’s bugged him since he was ten, he can tell her about Nym. It’s not like there’s anything to talk about. Except for the flirting. And the kiss that didn’t happen. And the plan to go to the fair together in a few weeks. And how thinking Nym might cancel makes Alex feel...a word stronger than _disappointed._

“Hello, Alex? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” He stifles a yawn. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Of course. What’s wrong?”

“No, no. Nothing’s wrong. It’s not like that.” Alex laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Just, it’s crush related, I guess.”

Haley gasps, is probably on the cusp of squealing into the receiver and blowing out his eardrum. “Alexander Mullner has an actual crush? I knew it! I can hear it in your voice.”

“Can you?” Alex shoves his free hand in his pocket because he doesn’t know what to do with it. Is there really something different with his voice? “Pretty sure it’s just from cheering. I’m exhausted.”

“Don’t you dare hang up on me.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Spill, spill. Is it a fan? Someone on the team? Is it that girl from the press conference?”

“Ew, no. Ramirez is just a friend who is already dating someone. And I don’t have the crush. I think someone has a crush on me.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know what to do about it?”

“Oh, sweet Alex. You’re kind of the quintessential crush, aren’t you? Mr. High School Quarterback and Chiseled Jaw? Aren’t you used to that by now?”

“Try not to be my hype team right now.”

“I’m not saying it to inflate your ego, you dork. It’s just, you’ve never cared about people’s crushes _before,”_ she teases. Alex can hear the eyebrow waggle in her voice, rolls his eyes in exasperation. “So, obviously, there’s something different, right? Do you reciprocate or something?”

“No,” Alex says automatically. “I don’t. It’s just, I followed the rule. We’ve barely hung out since he tried to kiss me and -”

“Wow!” Haley interrupts. “There was a kiss?”

Even though she can’t see it, Alex shrugs, embarrassed. “No. There _almost_ was.”

“And you didn’t, like, Charlie Foster him, right?”

Charlie Foster was a boy in high school who offered to tutor Alex in geometry one year. He was nice enough, tall, wore these horn-rimmed glasses like some kind of professor. After about five study sessions, Charlie asked him to be his dance partner at the school flower dance. Alex responded by shoving him into a janitor’s closet. Not his proudest moment.

“No, I didn’t Charlie Foster him,” Alex snaps. “Also we are never using that as a verb ever again.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun.”

“I’m not trying to be fun. I’m serious.”

“Well, I don’t know what you want from me. If you don’t feel the same way, then just ignore it like you always do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” The phone crackles when she sighs. “I’m just saying, you’re not in Pelican Town anymore. You don’t have to keep feeling cooped up.”

“What’re you saying to me right now?”

“That you grew up in a tiny ass town and your grandpa is a little...old-fashioned.”

“Are we really having this conversation again? Because nothing’s changed since high school. I still don’t like guys.”

Haley doesn’t sound convinced when she says, “Okay.”

Alex groans. This conversation amped up to confrontational for no reason, and he’s already feeling guilty for snapping at Haley so much. “He’s great, really, but…” It’s his turn to sigh. “It’s like, I dunno. Like that second before you catch a pass. You’re excited it’s coming to you, and it’s a perfect spiral, but you could fumble or get blindsided or miss it completely, and it’s all on you. All people are gonna care about is whether you got it or not.”

“Mhmm.”

“I’m sorry for bothering you with this.”

“It’s okay, Alex,” she says softly. “You’re not bothering me.”

Alex looks at the clock. It’s almost midnight. Again. “Can we talk again later? I have an early practice tomorrow.”

“You better call me again later. But can I say one more thing?”

“Okay.”

“I love you no matter what, and so do your grandparents, even if your grandpa is a crabby old fart with outdated views. You don’t have to be so scared of what people will think about you.”

“Thanks, Haley.”

“I mean it. I know that things are tough for you this time of year, and this’ll be the first year you’ll be alone on…” She trails off, doesn’t say it, but they both know what she’s talking about. “You’re allowed to be a little selfish though, and you’re allowed to want more than just a career.”

“I love you, Haley. I’ll call you later.”

His bed feels too soft and too hard all at once, keeps him tossing and turning for hours as every conversation with bounces around in his skull, echoing until it’s all just a confused garble. These feelings are just born out of loneliness or stress or confusion or something. They can’t be genuine. He bites his nails down to the nubs, a gross habit his father used to scream at him for, just to keep himself from saying the truth aloud.

His grandpa’s voice says something mean, an off-handed comment, really, made while watching the tail end of a dumb romantic comedy before the game one evening. A man crashes his best friend’s wedding and professes his love. The wife-to-be doesn’t look too bothered her man accepts it. Two men kiss. They cry. They’re happy.

_Unnatural,_ his grandpa grumbled.

_They’re happy,_ Alex thought.

* * *

Alex was in the hospital, a lot of times, but only one time really matters. He was trapped in the waiting room with his neighbor and twenty other strangers. Mr. Abe was in his late thirties and always smelled like he’d just sprayed on cologne in lieu of an actual shower. He always wore tracksuits with white lines. That day, the base color was red. Mr. Abe didn’t like kids, which was fine because the feeling was mutual. Alex would thank Yoba every time he stepped outside for a smoke break if only for the ten-minute respite from the awkward, empty words of comfort Mr. Abe tried to give him.

Alex stayed silently in his chair, a bag of animal crackers gifted to him by a nurse at the registration desk unopened in his lap. Idly, he stared at a painting of ugly purple flowers and wondered why he couldn’t seem to cry. He should have been crying, right? His mother collapsed and he had to call an ambulance and answer questions and he should have been crying.

His heart dropped every time the door to the exam rooms opened and it wasn’t his mom smiling at him, saying, _Sorry for the scare, sweetheart. Let’s go home._ He hated the nurse and he hated her awful pink smock and he hated that he couldn’t cry.

An hour later, a different nurse called Alex into a little white room with big, floor-to-ceiling windows that look out on a sunny afternoon. The couches were bigger and cleaner than the ones in the waiting room, and there was a private bathroom to the right. A mini fridge hummed in the corner. More ugly flowers decorated the walls.

He’d been to the hospital enough times to know this is not a good room. People were brought in here so they didn't have to cry in front of a bunch of strangers. Did they think he’d cry? He hadn’t managed to shed a single tear since he got here. Were they paying attention? Alex knew what this room meant. _I know she’s dead._ Alex said in a voice too serious for a ten-year-old. _I'm not stupid, I know she’s dead._

The doctor told him other things too: that they contacted his grandparents, that he’s sorry for Alex’s loss, that he can help himself to anything in the mini fridge if he wanted it. He looked at him with pity etched harshly into his wrinkles, and Alex wanted to punch him with white-knuckled fists because he couldn’t manage to cry even through his throat was tight and his eyes stung and he wanted to. He wanted to so bad. If he couldn’t hurt, he wanted someone else to hurt instead.

The feeling reminded him of his dad, which brought on a wave of anger that ten-year-olds shouldn’t be able to feel. Words toppled over one another, screaming to be heard in a voice that doesn’t belong to him. _Stupid_ trips over _worthless_ and _lazy,_ favorites of his father when Alex’s teachers would send home notes concerned about his difficulties reading, but it’s _crybaby_ that really gets to him. The one his father would use when, after screaming at him non-stop, Alex would start to cry. _I’ll give you something to cry about,_ he yelled as Alex chewed the inside of his cheek, begging the tears to stop.

Granny burst into the room before the doctor left. Back then, her hair was still a dull brown, long and just starting to grey. Her breath came in ragged puffs, as if she’d sprinted to the hospital all the way from Pelican Town. _I’ve got you, dearie,_ Granny said when she wrapped Alex in a hug. She smelled like cookies, the same kind his mom would make on rainy days. _It’s going to be okay,_ Granny said.

Twelve years later, Alex still can’t handle the anniversary well. He sleeps until one PM, misses practice, and doesn’t answer any calls. Maybe it’s a terrible thing to do, but Alex doesn’t care. At least not right now.

His bones feel like they’re made of lead, held together with concrete muscles. He’s curled up in a tight ball. His left arm tingles beneath him, and there’s a damp spot under his cheek. A bad case of dry mouth creeps all the way down his throat. It’d be nice to have Dusty right about now, but he’s probably tied up in his pen outside, itching for a good belly rub and a steak dinner. He hopes Granny is paying attention to him, especially today. It’s not a good one to be alone, and it’s not a good one to be idle either.

Her music box sits on his left end table. It’s a small, reddish-brown trinket with a golden fastener. It’s the only thing he has left of her. The social workers didn’t let him take anything else. He flips the lid, and a slow, tinny tune starts to play. Alex watches the cylinder inside spin, pins catching on the little divots. It’s not as shiny as it used to be. He wonders how many more plays it has in it before the mechanism rusts or gets so brittle it snaps itself apart.

The tap at his open window should be more startling. “That’s pretty,” Nym says before Alex shuts the box. “Jade’s been calling you.” There’s some shuffling, no doubt Nym letting himself in via the fire escape. Alex doesn’t acknowledge it’s happening. He counts the sea turtles printed on his pillowcase again. The mattress sinks behind him. A hand falls on Alex’s thigh, pats it gently.

“Do you...wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Alex huffs. It comes out so mean and angry and bitter that he cringes. He flips onto his back, and a symphony of pops crackle out of him as he stretches out the stiffness in his joints. The sun streams into his eyes, but that’s not why they burn. “Sorry. I do want to talk about it, I just don’t know where to even start.”

“The beginning is usually a safe bet,” Nym suggests. “Or you don’t have to at all.”

Alex scrubs his face. “No, I trust you with it.” A breath gets caught in his ribs. “I...my father wasn’t a good guy. I guess that’s the start. He used to drink a lot. Maybe he still does. Beer made him worse. He’s yell a lot, call me worthless and stupid. I don’t know what happened to him after he walked out on me and my mom.”

His throat constricts. His sinuses expand. His vision goes blurry.

“I guess I used to be mad at her for not leaving him first. But, she taught me how to throw a gridball and used to make me lunch every day. She got sick before I realized how dumb it was to think any of it was her fault. I never got to say sorry or thank her for being such a great mom to me. It sucks, y’know?”

Nym shakes his head. “I can only imagine how bad that must feel, Alex. I’m really -”

“I’m not looking for pity or sympathy or anything like that.”

“Okay.”

Alex sniffs and swipes his eyes with his wrist. “You know my number? It was hers, when she was in high school. The way my grandparents talk about her, I think she would’ve gone pro.”

“She would’ve been really proud of you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And not just because of gridball. You’re a really strong person, Alex.”

He doesn’t feel very strong. He’s hungry and dehydrated and exhausted. Exposed, maybe. And embarrassed. Weak is pretty on the nose. He feels like a loser for crying in front of Nym, for letting himself get so out of control. He still mumbles a low, “Thanks.” More strongly, he says, “And thanks for checking on me. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, threats from Jade aside, I know. But that’s what friends do, right?”

“We’re friends?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Cool.”

“And, don’t take this the wrong way, but as a friend, can I suggest that you might feel a little more human again if you take a shower? And you might smell better too.”

Alex grins. “Noted and very much taken the wrong way.”

There are more things he wants to say to Nym, but it doesn’t feel like the right time to bring any of it up. Right now, it’s enough to just have him close. Rejection can come later. Maybe it will sting less when this pain scabs over.

**Author's Note:**

> I got to 20k on the doc, then realized I still had much more I wanted to write and backtracked. I'm hoping to have part two done soon!


End file.
